Teleportation Prowess
by Zanaril
Summary: What happens when a demented wizard get's his hands on an otherworldly teleportation device? It can't be anything good, but can an unlikely group of adventurers really stop the fate of Geilenor spinning out of control?
1. In Which The Scene is Set

_Authors Note(s): This story has been extensively edited to even out chapter lengths, make characters more cynical, and to add what are probably too many footnotes, purely for entertainment purposes. Character names have been changed, chapters have been spliced, and laws of physics have been revised. I'm now permanently retired from RuneScape (and am using that as an excuse for my pathetic lack of updates), so further chapters are not so much Fanfiction as further twisting JaGex's twisty little twisted world for my own twisted amusement. I still own nothing to do with the game (except the free poster I got when I registered my PMod account. Nifty!) But nevertheless, enjoy!_

* * *

In Which the Scene is Set

The sun was setting on the city of Varrock, covering the city in a sea of deep orange light. In the centre of the city stood a fountain, the water glowing red from the last rays of the setting sun and the four marble figures, faces hidden and heads bowed, looked out with unseeing eyes. A few guards loitered around the entrance to the palace, shifting their awkward(1) uniform and re-adjusting their grip on the heavy shields they carried, none really paying any attention, there was little threat here(2).

The square was almost deserted, the citizens of Varrock having already retreated behind the safety of the locked doors of their houses, knowing better than to be caught outside at night. The only people there where a few merchants and stall-keepers, busily packing away their goods, pockets jingling with hard-earned coins but their stock somewhat depleted.

But if one was to stray off of the main street they would quickly come to a place the sun's light couldn't penetrate, where high, filthy buildings loomed depressingly overhead and the only red on the walls was not from the sunset, but from caked dried blood, probably all that remained of some innocent soul who had strayed into a place where every shadow posed a threat, and someone could lose their belongings, and often their life, in a flash of a well-aimed dagger.

Indeed, behind the bright splendor that screens the average adventurer from this realm, RuneScape can be a bloody depressing place.

(1)And utterly ridiculous

(2)This was, in fact, untrue. As long as a single adventurer remains, there will always be a threat to those who are easily accessible, are relatively puny, and give exp when bludgeoned to untimely, quickly reversed death.

* * *

"You should really cut down on the drink you know" commented the bartender absent-mindedly as he dried out a beer glass with a grimy cloth.

The figure at the bar smiled slightly, although the man was non-the-wiser due to the heavy brown hood that shadowed the figure's face.

"I think I'll manage" came the reply from somewhere in the recess of the cloak. After pausing to take another sip from the foaming glass in front of them, the stranger continued "besides, the more I drink the more coins go into your pocket. Dissuading customers could be considered bad for business you know. "

"Yes" the the barman replied then, with the earnestly of the delusional, pressed on "but it's really only virtual money, pretend money, seeing as we're in a computer game." He glared defiantly at where he guessed the eyes of the cloaked person were.

"Yea, yea, heard that one before." The hood jerked in what could have been a hiccup, and could have been barely restrained mirth "I think I'd know if we were stuck in a little magic box. And besides, I still have to work for it" they drawled, setting down both an empty glass and a battered coin onto the smooth wood of the bar and rising from the bar stool.

Then, with a sweep of their cloak, the type which can only be achieved with hours of practice in front of a mirror, the stranger stalked across the worn dirt of the tavern floor and out into the cool air of the evening, where the shadows rose up to greet them.

* * *

West of Lumbridge, the swampy excuse for a township where even the mightiest of adventurers all first swung a bronze sword, where new citizens of Geilenor learn the basic skills of survival and where noobs accumulate like limescale, there is an equally squalid little accumulation of life. Deceptively quaint, Draynor is possibly one of the liveliest of places on the map. At a first glance, you see a few innocent people, living out their lives(1) if not to the full, then at least to the half full. Or half empty, if you're going to be pessimistic about things.

The point is that people what people don't see is not what lies just beneath the surface(2) but what looms overhead, watching, waiting, and getting sizzled on electricity pylons. And the air did sizzle, not with the produced energy of combustion of fossil fuels, but with magic. Over the recent years this been largely attributed to the presence of the Wizard's Tower, but the power that had really been behind the strange phenomena that you could set your village clock tower by was nothing as feeble and adulterated as runecraft magic, but something much more fundamental.

It has been said that the Creator is most fond of small rocks, sheep and weeds. If so, Draynor was the rockiest of all rocks, the ultimate bane of gardeners and farmers alike, and the pure essence of wooly, sheepy goodness. It had been there a long time. It had always been there. Even before there was anywhere else to be.

(1)Or just generally lurching around, in the case of the unusually animated skeletons in the sewers.

(2)In the water around Draynor this is mostly dead giant rats which have been carried in by the current, freshly killed from Tutorial Island.

* * *

The Wizard's Tower did not carry its name lightly. It, or at least its inhabitants, carried the name, the Title, with almost the same pride as they bore their pointy hats. They were Wizards thank you very much, not so much powerful as Power itself or at least wielders of it for the greater good(1). The building had a lot of history, and the scrolls it had been written in would still exist had it not been for those meddling Zamorakians who had, some time in the course of history, been a bit careless about where they dropped their cigarette ends. The hierarchy of these cone shaped fellows is strange and as dubious, unstable und unpleasant smelling as the wizards themselves, but there is a general air of survival of the pwnest, and whomever emerged from the charred ruins of the frequent squabbles was put forward to be charred, grilled and then thoroughly soaked by whoever had a more sought out position and intended to keep it.

Wizard Grayzag was a prime example of this, mainly as he sat at the desk in his office. Only the very highest of Wizards were granted the privilege of having their very own office(2). Well, if you could call it an office. It was really just a small dark room, barely the size of a cupboard, and most of what little space there was taken up by an old oak desk, overflowing with towering piles of parchment that cast dark shadows into the dark corners of the even darker room.

There was also a battered and rusty metal filing case and one of those plastic computer chairs that spins around, often with a satisfying squeak and several people getting knocked over. Guthix only knows where he got that.

There came a knock on the door, which seemed to materialize in the wall as it opened, either by magic, or, more likely, due to the fact it was painted the exact same shade of black as the walls. The wizards liked to cut down on costs by using the same paint wherever and whenever possible. Grayzag looked up sharply; banging his head on the filing cabinet and brushing rust into his hair. "Who's there?" he barked. It had to be a wizard, the outside of the room was cleverly "disguised" as a broom closet so the many dregs of society who called themselves adventures wouldn't find it unless they where looking for cleaning materials, which, taking into account the personal hygiene of most of them, was highly unlikely.

A ragged, weedy and somewhat worried looking wizard nervously stepped into the doorway, ringing out his hat which, like his robes, was soaking wet.

"Sorry sir" he choked "But the imps – they've got out of the cage and somehow got hold of a bucket of water balloons!"

Grayzag pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward away a headache he could feel coming on. From somewhere below them he could hear someone franticly shouting "No. No! Put that down- Argh-!"

"We've been through this before; you **bind** the imps, **disarm** them and **lock** them back in the cage, just like we did in training." He said, slowly, putting emphasis on the words.

The wizard flinched "Yes sir, we know, but they've also found the runes"

The young wizard was saved the inconvenience of being fried to a crisp by a well timed water balloon that chose the opportunity to hit Greyzag squarely in the face.

(1)Which to them meant their own.

(2)The tower, while sufficiently large and looming from the outside, was otherwise rather cramped. It had originally been large enough to hold the entire order of the White Knights, but some particularly inventive spells had rendered large sections uninhabitable by those who wished to wake up with the correct number of limbs, if they woke up at all.

* * *

It was just after daybreak, the first rays of the sun's light just starting to creep across the fields, reflecting off of the dew and casting soft orange light onto the sleeping landscape.(1)

But for the citizens of Varrock, life had already begun, in its own busy, selling, buying and stealing way, the guards trying not to yawn as they patrolled the streets with thick woolen jumpers under their chain-mail, fantasizing about a nice hot cup of coffee(2).

(1)This is inaccurate since most light-dwelling animals are awake by this time, and plants probably don't sleep; even the strange ones that can grow on the second floor of buildings and attack people if they don't pick their fruit.

(2)Or at least would have had they had known coffee existed.

Four criminals followed this rule as well, already awake they where pulling on dark clothes and trying to hide as many weapons as they could around their person for quick accessibility.

Lirazan was watching with interest as Syril tried to hide yet another dagger about her person, along with the other twenty that where already hidden in inconspicuous, yet easy-to reach places.

"I think you've got enough weapons already" she mused as Terrig hopped by with one boot on, tying to force his head through the sleeve of his jumper(1).

"So where exactly are you going?" Syril asked, having given up and thrown the dagger into one of the wooden beams that held up the ceiling.

"Draynor, someone wants me to investigate a thief-"

"Isn't that the kind of things the guards do?" Syril interrupted.

"-who's been stealing the stuff they bought illegally and to get rid of them before the guards start getting suspicious." Lira continued, as though she hadn't heard Syril.

Syril opened her mouth to speak but at that moment the trapdoor opened and Kyril climbed down holding four small loaves of bread. "Breakfast" He announced.

"Cheers." Terrig said, grabbing one of the loaves with the hand that wasn't still trying to find its sleeve and promptly cramming half of it into his mouth. The other three started on their bread with considerably more grace.

Lira brushed imaginary crumbs from her dragonhide and pulled up her hood. "I'lll probably be gone a few days. Try not to cause too much trouble while I'm gone." Syril snorted defiantly.

And with that Lira shouldered her bag and walked over to the trapdoor and, after perring out dubiously to check that the coast was clear, grabbed the edge and pulled herself up heady wood slamming down behind her. There was a pause, a muffled curse, and then the scrabbling sound of the hem of a cloak being pulled free.

Terrig meandered over to where the other two were.

"Where's sh' goin'?" Terrig asked with his mouth full.

(3)Vomit green.

* * *

Grayzag leaned against the wall, exhausted. It had taken them three hours to round up all the imps in the tower without magic, and still several of them had made a bid for freedom, squeezing under doors and jumping out of windows. Eventually they had just had to throw nets over everything in hope that they would catch something other than the upholstery. He didn't really need to keep the imps any more, his research was complete, but he couldn't bear the thought of all those things running around lose.

Grayzag had first become interested in imps when he had learned of there unique teleportation ability. Imps had the ability to teleport to anywhere. As a rule, teleportation had to have a set point that you could focus on, like the wizard in Ardougne who had apparently made a device that could be teleported to wherever it was in the world. They had received a crumpled up note saying how sorry he was that it hadn't arrived and how he would use a more reliable postage service to send it once he found it again.

But imps didn't follow this rule. Grayzag had done every test he could think of, countless pages of results and diagrams. All of them had failed; he still couldn't reproduce the teleportation spell the imps used. He had heard a vague rumor that adventurers were plagued by something called the "Random Event", but since the informer had been quite past tipsy when they were replaying this information, he dismissed it as the usual nonsense you could expect from such types.

"Grayzag, sir!" Shouted a wizard as he ran up to him, caught his foot on one of the nets that hadn't been cleared away and crashed into a table, knocking it over and breaking one of the legs off. He carefully untangled himself from the wreckage, balanced the table back on it's remaining legs and stood up smartly before the senior wizard, taking a bit more care about where he put his feet.

"We found out who released the imps, sir." He said conclusively.

"Oh really?

"Ya really Sir."

"You sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. Sir. "

**"Well who is it!?"** Grayzag bellowed, his patience having been pushed to it's megre limits.

"Err…" Muttered the wizard, his eyes unfocusing momentarily "Oh, I must have forgotten when I banged my head on the table. Sir." He said. He grinned sheepishly as the older wizard's eyes burned into his with the barely repressed menace of a bull that is about to charge. Then he yelped. "He's down in the basement with Sedridor, sir!" He added hurriedly as he started to frantically pat his hair which had caught fire. Grayzag gave the wizard a final glare and hurried out of the room towards the stairs

"That was close" the wizard muttered to himself, extinguishing the last of the flames and pulling his hat back onto his smoldering hair as the point of Grayzag's hat disappeared down the staircase.


	2. Things Go Cone Shaped

Things go Cone Shaped

Grayzag sighed as he ascended the stairs to his laboratory. The person who had let the imps out was a stupid new recruit, barely able to spell 'wizard' let alone act like one. He had been put on probation, and banned from the wizard's tower for a month and had then slouched across the bridge to the mainland knocking the torches off the walls with his staff. Great, something else that needed fixing.

Grayzag needed some peace and quiet, so he had decided to go and do something boring and useful. Writing up test results.

When he was bored seemed to be the only time something wasn't going wrong. Whether it was spontaneous combustion of magic books or just Mizgog blaming him because his stupid beads had rolled off somewhere by themselves(1) something was always going wrong. And he was always dead centre of it all. With a bull's-eye painted on his back.

The door to the lab opened with a satisfying creak that is usually associated with haunted houses. The inside of the lab well could have been one. It was a small round room (not as small as his office, but still small) that housed several shelves on which vials of luminous liquid bubbled away in. A skeleton hung from a stand creaking menacingly.

There where also two desks, one with an interesting contraption of glass tubes through which bubbles moved, puffing out blue and green smoke rings every now and then. The other was covered in tedious looking piles of boring parchment. Grayzag went over to the boring one.

He took about half an hour pondering over sheaves of parchment, occasionally scrawling down a sentence or to in spidery handwriting, often rummaging through assorted graphs and charts and jotting down figures. It was no use, he was still fuming at the world in general and, getting more frustrated with every second, he finally threw his quill down in frustration. It rolled across the desk, splattering the parchment he was working on with blobs of ink.

He needed some herbal tea, that was it. Suddenly faced with the prospect of some nice hot, marrentill brew(2), he got up and headed back down the stairs towards the kitchens.

On his desk a piece of parchment, splattered with ink from the quill, started to glow. The air around it flickered and suddenly it disappeared in a puff of smoke, taking the phoenix feather quill with it.

(1)They were magic after all.

(2)Complemented by something much stronger and more wearing on the liver.

* * *

The village of Draynor is a sad, dull little place, the type that gets you thinking about mud, rain, and what the point of your life is.

One person who was sitting in a tavern there was definitely was thinking about the latter of those.

Wilt sighed as he sipped the flat lemonade, got some up his nose and sneezed loudly making his light blue wizard's hat slip forward over his eyes. It wasn't that he didn't try do be a good wizard, it's just that everything always seemed to go wrong for him. Leaving the imp's cage open was a mistake anyone could make, it was their fault for sending him up to feed them. It wasn't his fault every spell he ever learnt got knocked out of his head; people always seemed to want to trip him up.

Over by the bar someone in a brown cloak was arguing with the bartender about the price of beer. Apparently in Varrock it was only two coins a pint not three.

"It's daylight robbery!" Lira exclaimed hypocritically as she gave up and handed three coins over. "Why should a dump like this make you pay more for drinks?"

She looked around the tavern for a seat, and, finding the only one that looked relatively safe to be next to the depressed wizard, sat down on it. She took a careful sip of beer, paused to think about it and then, deciding it probably wasn't poisoned, took a long swig.

"So what's bothering you?" she said after a while, obviously not able to think of any better conversation starters.

Wilt muttered something indistinguishable, and then burst out sobbing.

"**It's not FAIR!**" he wailed "**I don't TRY to do things wrong, thing just happen when I'm around. And now I've been kicked out of the wizards' tower! And no-one even cares that it's my birthday**"

Lira grabbed the table as she nearly toppled off the stool, stared for a moment then said in what she hoped as a comforting voice. "Hey, I'm sure It'll be ok" even though she severely doubted it.

Wilt wiped his face on his robes, sniffed then looked at her with red tear-stained eyes "You really think so?" He said.

"Yea, I'm sure that some-one, somewhere, cares about you" she lied smoothly. Then, considering the situation for a moment, she reached into her pocket and pulled out an enchanted emerald amulet and held it out to him. "Here, happy birthday."

Wilt smiled weakly at her and clutched the amulet to his chest. "Thank you" he whispered.

Lira smiled the self-centered smile of one who thinks they're being tactful.

* * *

Elisabeth Dorthy hummed tunelessly as she picked up the various sheets of paper that where scattered around her desk. After collecting them all up into a neat pile and storing them in a ring-binder named "Year 10 science HW", she picked up her bag, took out her teacher's planner, scribbled something in it with a biro, picked up another biro and repeated when the first one failed to work, put the planner back into the bag and headed to the door.

The science labs at Greenfields high school were relatively small and were one of the oldest parts of the school, tucked away behind the newer main building, and had a lot of things squashed into a small space. The walls were plastered with so many layers of notices, signs and various posters illustrating how different functions of the human body worked(1) that if the wall was removed they'd probably stand up by themselves.

She squeezed past the life-sized plastic skeleton, taking a cigarette out of it's mouth that someone had put there for a joke and walked through the doorway, locking the metal and glass door behind her.

The corridors in the school had that dark, quiet, everyone's-gone-home-now feel to them as Liz walked towards the school entrance, rummaging in her pocket for her car keys. Her footsteps echoed through the empty building and her shoes clapped loudly against the plastic flooring.

It was autumn and it was already starting to get dark early, the sun's last rays already creeping across the grass, shimmering as the blades of grass moved in the breeze.

She walked past the double doors at the entrance to the school and round to the car-park. She walked over to her car, the only one there and bent down to unlock it. Suddenly she paused, seeing something out of the corner of her eye. Something… bright. She walked across the gravel, the stones crunching under her heels. It was a feather. A large, brilliantly gold a red feather with the end fashioned into a point and covered in drying ink. A quill, she realized, probably blown from the art department.

But there was something about it that seemed out of place, she suddenly has a strong urge to touch it, to make sure it was really there. She bent down; her fingers reaching out towards it. But as her nails brushed against the feather the ground sped away from her then zoomed back up to meet her.

Everything went black.

(1)For some reason, new content had been continually added without taking down the previous layer. As a result, the walls were several inches thicker that they had originally been, if, indeed, walls had ever featured there at all.

* * *

Wilt and Lira walked out of the dark bar out into what light could filter though the muck and grime. Said muck and grime swirled a bit as it adjusted to the unusual presence of something that moved, and then settled dutifully onto its new hosts.

"So what's your name kid?" Lira asked as they progressed down the narrow street.

"Well my real name's Wilton but everyone calls my Wilt. They say it fits my personality" he sniffed dejectedly. Lira though they might have been onto something there, but decided to keep that opinion to herself, at least for the meantime.

"My name's Lirazan, although most of my friends just call me Lira because it's less of a mouthful to say when you're shouting or running." Lira paused, apparently thinking "Although I do seem to get called 'stop her!' and 'what are _you_ doing here?!" quite often now you mention it."

"Busy life then?" Wilt said dully.

"Yea, when I'm not running away from something I'm running towards it. Actually that's why I'm here, I usually live in Varrock."

"What? You're running away from something or running towards it?" Wilt puzzled.

"Towards something. Someone's had some trouble with-" Lira looked suspiciously at him. "You're not working for the guards are you?"

"No, of course not!" Wilt said hurriedly, noticing her right hand was resting on the handle of a cruelly curved scimitar that he hadn't noticed before.

Lira relaxed her grip on the weapon, although still made it quite clear she could have it in her hand and have done something unpleasant with it before he could say 'ow'.

"So why are you-" she stopped to correct herself "Why _were _you staying at the wizards tower? You're not quite reaching the 'long white beard' stage of life yet. You said it was your birthday, how old are you?"

"Fourteen" He sniffed, paused, and then went on. "My parents where killed in a freak accident when I was ten, and seeing as the wizards where partly to blame for it they sort of adopted me. After a week or so of everyone saying 'poor you' and 'cheer up, it's not so bad' every time they passed me they lost interest and went back to arguing over how you pronounce 'Geilenor' and who's beard could stretch the furthest. I've just been the nuisance that gets everything wrong ever since."

He had said that very slowly without looking up, and Lira suspected he had said that more to give himself strength that to inform her of his life history.

They walked in silence for a while until they come to the front of a run-down house and Lira stopped suddenly and wilt, who had been looking at his feet, bunped into her.

She looked around for a moment, confirming that it was the right place before stepping towards the door and knocking sharply on the door four times.

The door opened a crack and a bright blue eye looked out at them from the internal darkness.

"Yes?" questioned a grumpy voice, probably from the owner of the eye.

"I'm the mercenary you sent for." She answered.

The door swung open half way and a tall, grubby man in leather armour stood in the doorway. He squinted down at Wilt who continued studying his boots.

"Who's the half-pint wizard?" he asked, making the boy look ever more down-trodden.

"A friend who's helping me" Lira answered briskly "Don't worry, you won't have to pay him."

The man squinted at Wilt suspiciously, around here wizards where generally treated with caution, not unlike how you would treat an bomb that had failed to go off, but might still have some life left in it. This one, however, seemed pretty harmless he decided, so eventually he settled for giving him a glare that plainly meant 'try anything funny and you'll be dead before you can say 'pointy hat'.

Eventually, after what seemed like an age, but was probably only a few seconds, he opened the door fully so they could both walk into awaiting gloom.


	3. Madness in the Method

Madness in the Method

Liz Slowly came back to consciousness. Her body and her head belt numb, she had a strange ringing noise in her ears, and she had a strange felling she'd been pulled through a very small tube very quickly.

What had happened? And more importantly, where was she? As feeling came back to her and her mind cleared a bit she realized she was definitely not in the car park any more, what she was lying on was neither gravel nor grass and there was no breeze, which suggested she was inside. So what the hell had happened? Had something knocked her out? Was she in a hospital? But what she was lying on was hard, cold and rough, stone she realized. And hospitals where noisier than this, colder too due to too many air vents. No, definitely not a hospital.

Liz though about it for a while, maybe she was still unconscious? She didn't think you dreamt when you where knocked out, but maybe she was wrong. Well, if this was a dream there was no point in not opening her eyes, she seldom had dreams and was interested to see what weird thing her mind churned out. She stood up slowly, her aching body protesting and, taking a deep breath, opened her eyes.

"Ah!" She shrieked and jumped back quickly, having opened her eyes to find her face only an inch from the skull of a skeleton that was hanging from a dark wooden stand.

She looked around and found herself in a small circular room with shelves running around the edges carrying unfamiliar and dangerous-looking chemicals, except for where a large, heavy-looking door tool up part of the wall from floor to ceiling. There was also that strange red and gold feather again. Strange dream, she thought, but only a dream.

There where two desks in the room, one with a strange set up of test-tubes, boiling tubes and glass pipes and the other piled up with thick yellowish paper covered in symbols, none of which she recognized. Yep, she was sure this was a dream.

But even dreams get boring if you don't do something, so with no hesitation she pushed the door open and stepped through…

She found herself at the top of a flight of spiral stairs, in a small landing with no other doors but one window which faced the west, where the late sunset could be seen, far beyond a vast ocean, a black silhouette against the glowing red light. There was something wrong about it though, she just couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something. Like a minor detail changed in a room, a brushstroke changed on a familiar painting. Yes, definitely something wrong with it.

She went over to the stairs, they where wide and shallow, and looked quite worn, like they where used very often. She leant over, trying to see down them but they curved out of view.

So, with a shrug, she started to descend…

243.. 244… 245… Liz counted the steps as she went down, watching where she put her feet, listening to her heart pounding in her ears. She was so absorbed in what she was doing that she didn't notice the shadow of a person in a come-shaped hat coming up the stairs towards her.

She bumped right into him, almost knocking him back down the stairs. Judging by the look on his face he was just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. And with a short scream she dodged past him and ran the rest of the way down the stairs, out the heavy front doors and out onto the bridge heading for the mainland, leaving him standing there, a half empty cup of steaming green liquid in his hand and a stupidly surprised look on his face.

* * *

"…And that's basically the problem." The man finished rather lamely.

Lira sighed. This was getting worse and worse by the minute and her patience was already losing its elasticity. "So all we need to do is find who's stealing the equipment, get rid of them and bring everything back, although not necessarily in that order. And it all has to my done without the guards noticing anything? That shouldn't be too hard." She stated.

The man, who from not on will be called Velrin because apparently it's his name, failed to notice the sarcasm in her voice.

"Pretty much, yea" he replied. "Although if you can squeeze some information out of the person who's doing thins before you, um, dispose of them, it would be helpful. If fact, bring them back alive if you can."

"Well, maybe it would be a good idea if we started to look around." Wilt said suddenly. "The storeroom might be a good place to start."

Velrin jumped slightly probably having forgotten the Wilt, who hadn't said anything for a while, was there.

"Good thinking" Lira said, then turned to Velrin. "So where _is_ the storeroom" she questioned.

"Well that's where there's a slight problem" Velrin said, grinning sheepishly.

Somewhere, a particularly vain sheep baaed indigently for being so loosely used as an adjective.

"I sort of, well, accidentally dropped it down the drain."

"Why does this seem familiar?" Lira muttered under her breath.

"I'm pretty sure it's down in the sewers and I'd go down and get it myself but there's, zombies and, and skeletons and stuff down there. Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure though" he said quickly.

Wilt cut in. "If you've not been able to get in there, how do you know that things are going missing?"

"There's this little window in the door…" he said lamely.

"look, I'm sure I can open it if you just take us there" Lira said. "I've had to get through much more than locked doors before now"

"Well, ok but It's a pretty strong door" he said, standing up and walking over to a narrow and rough spiral staircase that curved down sharply beneath them.

"You coming?"

* * *

"I see what you mean by a strong door" Wilt said blankly, staring at several inches of reinforced steel. A single tiny barred window was set deeply into it.

Lira said nothing but walked over to it, briefly running her hand around the edges, over the hinges and finally the lock itself, looking for a weak point. She found one in the lock.

It was a very simple mechanism; a practiced thief could have probably picked it in about five minutes.

Fifteen minutes and 18 bent lock picks later Lira's muttered cursing was preceding past PG-13 and into loud, rowdy, unknown territory.(1)

"Look, why don't I just melt the lock with a fire spell." Wilt asked halfheartedly for a third time.

Lira cast around desperately. "Err… property damage! You can't destroy the lock, they need this door for security.

"Oh, and the selection of pitfalls, floor spikes and random objects of springs was all for show was it?" The custard pie had been tasty though, albeit slightly squashed after being propelled into his hat.

"Yes." A click "Aha! See? I told you I could do it. I did it! The door's open without any little flashy part tricks!" Was that a small victory dance?

Wilt sighed. Maybe he should have stayed in that pub…

But he stood up from the floor where he had been absentmindedly scratching runes in the dirt, and followed the mercenary into what was the large scale, pseudo-mediaeval equivalent of an industrial safe.

They spent several minutes looking around what crates were left when Wilt suddenly sat back on his heels with a triumphant smirk on his face.

Lira looked up at the sudden movement, then rose and jogged over to where the wizard was crouched, closely examining something. He held it up to her; a small piece of wood with a semicircle of holes in it each side.

"Imps." He stated soundly.

"Imps…?"

"You know, flying red vermin? Pointy tailed pests? The bane of my exsiste-"

"Yes I know what imps are" Lira cut in irritably, "I want to know how they are relevant."

"The little thieving buggers are the thieves, that how they're relevant! You want me to compare the bite marks on this to the numerous scars I've got from handling those flying rats?"

Comprehension dawned. "But how did they get in here?" Lira asked, puzzled. While imps can normally teleport through almost anywhere, the atmosphere around Draynor was so saturated with magic from the Wizard's Tower that their teleportation magic, already weak because of its unique ability, just didn't work. Imps normally avoided the area.

"The window in the door" Wilt replied. "They could easily get through there then unlock it behind them, there's a handle on this side." He shook his head. "What I find more worrying is _why_ would they do this?"

"I thought they just naturally stole things." Lira said, shrugging.

"Yes, but they don't sneak into buildings and squeeze through small windows to do so." He sighed, standing up and dropping the bit of wood. "No, someone must be directing them, and I have a good idea who."

"Well it must be someone who knows something about magic, but apart from that I'm in the dark."

"Put it this way, it looks like I'll be going back to the wizard's tower after all."

(1)For a Geilenorian on course. You probably know much worse thanks to television and internet. The only sources teenagers here have to learn cusswords from are criminals, pirates, evil psychotic wizards, demons, goblins, and barbarians. Aren't you lucky.

* * *

Many miles north of Lira and

Wilton, the City of Varrock lies, swarming with life it is home to hundreds of people, both those who side with the Law, and those who hide away from it…

_"Are you ready?"_

Syril sidled up to the stall, pretending to be interested in the many polished stones that lay across the rough wood, infused into delicate and ornate patterns of gold and silver.

_"I think so."_

She leant down to examine a particularly large amulet, a many-faced and highly polished dragon-stone reflected her image many times into a deep shade of purple.

_"How much time do you think we'll have?"_

She was wearing a plain dress over her normal clothes, and looked just like any other member of the crowd that jostled behind her. Perfect.

_"A few seconds at the most."_

She leant back, apparently not having found what she was looking for, and started to walk back into the crowd.

"_Depends how well she pulls it off. Any moment…"_

Suddenly she tripped, and with a short but loud scream grabbed someone and pulled them down with her.

_"NOW!"_

While everyone's attention was on Syril, who was in the centre of a lot of pushing and shoving people who where trying to find out what had happened, Kyris and Terrig leapt silently and stealthily out of the alleyway they had been hiding in and ran behind the nearest stalls grabbing merchandise as the traders where distracted.

Then, their dark clothes making them almost invisible against the grubby walls, they both darted down another avenue and away into the gloom.

Their interest already fading, the crowd resumed their usual activity, but by the time the stall-keepers noticed anything was gone, all three thieves had disappeared into the distance.


	4. And Everyone's Doing What They Do Best

And Everyone's Doing What They Do Best

Lira gingerly knelt down and touched the rippling surface of the water. The dark liquid was so cold it felt like it was burning. Oh well, here goes.

She put one bare foot into the salty water then, with a slight splash, jumped in up to her waist. She waded out into the sea until her chin was touching the water, then quickly ducked her head under, bobbed back up and started to swim a fast front-crawl out to the small island, the high, rickety tower showing up as a weird, wonky silhouette against the sky.

* * *

Against his protests, she had decided that Wilt shouldn't come. He was likely to get into danger and if someone recognized him it could lead to even more trouble. Than being caught trespassing in a tower of trigger happy pyromaniacs. Hmm.

After a few minutes of hard swimming her feet touched the sandy soil at the south of the small island that accommodated the tall structure. She crawled onto the beach, stood up and shook her head in an attempt of dislodging a few water-droplets from her hair. They stayed put, icy water running down the back of her neck.

Fingers slightly numb with the cold, she fumbled with the catch on the waterproof bag she had brought with her, pulled out her boots, sat down and started trying to rub some life back into her toes(1).

After a few minutes she stood up, boots back on feet, and fished around in the bag until she found what she was looking for. It was a grappling hook, runite shining menacingly. She also pulled out a strong rope with knots at foot intervals along its length, and tied this onto the end of it with a complicated-looking knot. It was special type that could be fired by a cross-bow, and this she did now, fitting it, drawing back the sinew and taking aim, squinting up into the darkness above her.

The bolt flew into the air with a low whistling sound, then curved and caught the low stone wall around one of the towers that perched precariously on top of the grey slate roof. She gave it a few experimental tugs, then, when she was sure it was secure, she swung the bag over her back and took a deep breath. Placing a foot against the rough stone she started to pull herself up, using the knots in the rope as handholds.

(1)And dislodge a shrimp that had hitched a ride.

After several minutes of hard work, she came to a small balcony about half way up the tower. Her arms aching, she wedged her feet against the ledge and took a minute or two to catch her breath. This part of the tower stuck out slightly, and from her position she had a good view of the sea, the bridge leading to the mainland, the sea and (unfortunately) the ground which seemed to be a few hundred leagues below her. She carefully avoided looking down.

Instead she stared out towards the sunset, the deep light streaking the sea in delicate colours. She frowned slightly. That was strange of her, looking at things like this. It wasn't that she didn't care for the natural beauty of the world; it was just that she would rather be doing other things. But she was looking at it now, and she realised it wasn't the first time in the last few days she had noticed it. There must be something wrong with her.

_Or wrong with the sunset?_ a little voice inside her head prompted. She ignored it.

Suddenly from somewhere inside the building she heard a scream which brought her out of her thoughts and back into the reality of where she was.

She froze instinctively, then, after realizing no one was shouting, pointing blades at her throat or throwing fireballs at her, she carefully opened one eye just in time to see a small figure in some kind of white robe running across the grey stone bridge.

_Strange…_, she thought, and then stopped herself. She mustn't lose concentration like that(1).

She swung off the balcony, her boots finding footing between the old masonry, and continued up.

(1)The pills the apothecary had given her had tasted suspicious, so she had stopped taking them. She was now reconsidering how sensible a decision that had been.

* * *

A tall figure prowled through the alleyways of Varrock. His features where hidden by a dark robe and his face was shadowed by a heavy hood. The robe was reinforced with leather, treated in such a way that it would not hamper magical ability but would provide protection to the wearer, a necessity in a place such as this. A black leather scabbard hung by his thigh.

Sniggering voices came into earshot and as he turned a corner he came across three teenage boys who where writing something on the grubby wall that would put the age rating of this story up if written down here.

The man stepped forward, slipping his scimitar out of its scabbard a few inches, revealing bright blue metal. Three guilty faces looked up at the wizard.

"Clear off brats" he snarled, his hand resting threateningly on the handle of the blade.

The three adolescents stared at him then as one they came to their senses and bolted for the cover of one of the dark streets. The wizard leaned against the brick wall, patted his pockets till he found a grubby cigarette and lit it up with a flame from his fingertip.

At 21 years old, Sorkil had already surpassed his 90th level exams by far, managing to become one of the 10 most powerful wizards of the Wizard's Tower, he was well known by the Wizard's Guild. He had achieved this by filling the shoes of more senior wizards, after first ridding them of their occupants.

He nonchalantly blew a purple smoke ring out of the side of his mouth then looked over his shoulder as a group of similarly dressed lower level wizards stepped out of the shadows.

"Another fake, sir" the man leading the group spat. "This is getting out of control, how many copies of the damn sword do you think there are?" A pause "Sir?" he quickly added on as an afterthought.

"Patience, patience, Trandil" Sorkil drawled. "You don't get anywhere in life by moving too quickly."

"We're running out of time though, Sir" Said another of the wizards, stuffing into a pipe something that was neither legal nor at all good for his health.

"We've still got a week" Sorkil replied calmly. "That is plenty of time to get to the bottom of this; magical swords that are famed for demon-slaying rarely stay hidden for long"

"Lucky for us, this seems to be one of those 'rarely' times" Muttered Trandil, who was concentrating on lighting up a fag. "The whole thing is pointless, I should have been in control then we'd have found the damn sword by now."

"Maybe you would care to repeat that a little louder." said a voice suddenly inched from his nose. He jumped, his shaking hands dropping unlit cigarette, and looked up into the deep red eyes of his senior wizard.

"Urm" he mumbled, eyes wide with sudden fear.

Sorkil pointed a stained finger at the junior wizard's throat and the man's eyes rolled back into his head. He foamed at the mouth then crumpled to the ground, blood gushing out of his nose.

"Never, question my authority" Sorkil said levelly, turning to the other four wizards "Or you won't be as lucky as him."

The other four wizards looked up mournfully from their unconscious colleague who was lying face down on the cobbles and a spreading stain of red. Not as lucky as him.

* * *

By the time Lira scaled the last few feet of wall, the sun had already slipped below the horizon.

In the sky, a few of Geilenor's less-known constellations, such as 'The Group Of Boring Stars', 'More Random Dots' and 'My Neck Is Aching From Looking Up Like This', sparked slightly, as though they couldn't really be bothered.

Lira leapt nimbly over the crumbling parapet and, ignoring the group of stars known as 'Loads Of Sparkly Things' which glittered vainly in the black sky, she quickly stowed the grappling hook and rope away in her bag. Keeping low to the floor, she sprinted across the various platforms, ledges and extravagantly carved window sills, ignoring a few of the animate stone creatures that attempted to start up a conversation with her.

After a brief period of scrabbling over lichen-covered slate tiles, she reached a heavy wooden trapdoor, stiffly shut from disuse. In the summer the inhabitants of the tower came up here when they wanted to look at the stars, just get some peace and quiet or simply have a quick smoke, which explained the number of cigarette ends trampled into the stone. But now the nights had got colder the wizards, sensitive to harsh weather due to spending too many nights locked up in dark rooms, squinting at ancient musty scrolls, preferred to stay near the warmth of their heavily scented magical fireplaces. And, of course, the smoldering robes of fellow wizards that had been disposed of by their colleagues to cut down competition.

The trapdoor was packed shut with rust and other things that had become wedged in the gap. It was also locked with a heavy padlock and although it didn't seem to be magical in any way, the air was so saturated with magic she doubted she would be able to spell it open. Not that she needed to anyway, seeing as she had a key.

Most of the wizards managed to gain quite a collection of keys while they stayed at the tower. They could be found everywhere, just appearing whenever they felt like it. Most students had a good collection of keys, some which opened hidden doors, some that opened certain chests and cupboards and some that tried to bite anyone that touched them. The latter of these where usually kept in old shoe-boxes or rusty cages to be brought out when poisonous scorpions became scarce. Life for wizards, as it where, was surprisingly hazardous.

After fitting the key in the lock, and, with much effort, getting it to turn, she grasped the large iron ring welded to the dark wood and heaved the trapdoor open. She stopped suddenly as the rust gave a protesting, high-pitched screech and then with much care managed to open it enough to squeeze down without making too much noise.

She carefully felt her way into the gloom, placing her feet on the worn stone of an old spiral staircase. Then she pulled down the trapdoor above her head and was plunged into darkness.

* * *

Feeling each step carefully, she silently made her way down the stairs, her eyes seeing nothing except when she passed small grubby windows set deep into the walls, and her ears strained for any sound except her own pounding heart.

She reached the bottom of the staircase suddenly, almost tripping as her foot met solid stone instead of the expected empty air. The corridor had a sullen, neglected feel to it, and although it was unlikely there where any hidden traps, she carefully tested each slab of the floor in case it gave way.

Soon the passage curved round and the corridor was dimly lit with flickering torches, the ceiling over her head black from years of soot and smoke. The first few doors she came to where locked, although she didn't bother opening them as they where obviously only cupboards, home to nothing but a few starved arachnids.

But as she moved on she soon came to doors that led to the rooms of the wizards that resided in the Tower. They where all locked and had tarnished brass numbers on them, from inside a few voices could be heard, amid the occasional scream.

Keeping to the shadows she wound her way down two more spiral staircases, running stealthily between the darkness created by vulgar statues, the mounted rotting heads of deceased animals whose deaths had apparently been worth showing off about and threadbare tapestries portraying epic scenes bordered by complicated, faded runes.

After ten minutes of dodging between shadows, in and out of doorways traversing through the seemingly endless maze of corridors and trying not to be noticed my the explicitly realistic statues that apparently where bored, being too far apart from each other to converse easily, she found a landing with only one large door and a single small window.

The door was open.

Suddenly apprehensive, Lira edged her way towards the doorframe and carefully peered inside, ready to duck at any second. There was no-one there.

Vials of potion ingredients lined grungy shelves that circled near the ceiling and two desks stood awkwardly against the curved walls. The skeleton creaked menacingly(1).

Lira walked over to the desk on which the many sheaves of parchment where spread out and carefully picked up the topmost one.

She almost gasped, although stopped just in time, as from experience she knew that gasping dramatically at times like this normally lead to someone arriving who was less than pleased to see you.

It decided to happen anyway.

There came sound of muffled footsteps coming quickly up the stairs, so without further hesitation she gathered up the scrolls that she though looked most important, pulled out a small amulet set with a purple stone and drew a finger across it. She vanished in a flash of violet.

A second later a man in red and black robes came up the stairs. He had the look of someone who was totally and utterly confused, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

He jogged into his office, wheezing from having run up so many steps, then, as he noticed his desk was straining slightly less under the weight of heavy paper, put on the famed 'why me?' expression and sat down on one of the creaking chairs with his head in his hands.

(1)Though slightly unenthusiastically, as though it had done this far too many times before and really just wanted a good polish and maybe a bit of bleach here and there.


	5. The Good, the Bad, and These Guys

The Good, the Bad, and These Guys

Liz sprinted across the bridge and the torches that lined the sides streaked past as orange blurs out of the corner of her eyes. Suddenly the grey stone ended and the path became a dirt track, and soon she was running through a forest, branches lashing at her face and hands. The only way she could see the path was by the moonlight that was filtering through the leaves above her. After a few minutes she ground to a halt, panting and out of breath and shivered in her thin clothes. Where was she? Oh yes, inside her head, this was all a just a dream, she had to remember that.

She walked along the dirt track for a while, jumping at every small noise she heard through the darkness, she was suddenly very much aware that her eyes where so much a daylight thing.

Suddenly behind her someone yelled and she spun around to see a figure in black armour trying to untangle himself from the dark undergrowth by cutting everything away with a short black sword. Some of the plants reached up with prehensile creepers to try to disarm him, but he held tightly to the pommel of his sword and hacked away at them. He started running towards Liz, sword held high above his head in what he probably though was a threatening manner, but a tree root popped out of the ground right in front of his foot and he fell over sprawled on the ground.

While he was trying to get up, Liz suddenly came to he senses and bolted down the path heading towards Draynor.

* * *

Lira and Wilt sat in Draynor's only tavern, a small grubby place called "The Sleeping Bat". The Hallowe'en decorations where up in the way of one small, badly-made Jack-o-lantern in which a stub of candle was smouldering.

Wilt carefully peered over the handful of crumpled parchment, a small frown on his face. Lira took another sip of ale.

"Its bad then?" she finally said, breaking the silence which until now had only been punctured by the occasional squeak as the bartender whiped out beer-glasses with a greasy cloth.

"We all knew he was doing something to do with teleporting with the imps." He said sighing and taking a sip of beer from his small half-pint glass. Lira has insisted that in places like this you may as well eat red spider eggs rather than order anything non-alcoholic. At least with the spider eggs you knew exactly what you where getting.

"He's been working on the project for years, at least since before I came, and so-far everyone just let him get on with it because otherwise he just spend all his time shouting at us. But if we'd known he was doing this… he's been trying to find a way of teleporting between dimensions."

"…Dimensions?" Lira said puzzled. She may be good at magic but she'd never sat a two-hour lecture on "The Theory of Teleportation" whereas Wilt had sat half of one then dozed of, fallen out of his seat and had a mild concussion.

"You know, like how when you teleport you pass through the top of this world which is really thin, sort of, then travel through the Abyss and come back out in the pace you wanted to teleport. And it seems that you got there instantly because Time works differently in the Abyss. But apparently, it should be possible to go through the Abyss and come out into a universe other than our own, because they're all like, in the same place but, you cant see them." He paused, looking confused "Or something like that anyway. But the thing is it would cause a huge rip in time and space. Kina like how a time paradox would occur if someone if someone stopped time in one place then didn't finish what they had already done."

Lira through guiltily back to a certain dinner she had attended a while back, and then pushed it out of her head. How was it her fault that the stupid Lumbridge cook had poked around in old magic books? That's what you got for trying to help people these days.

"But this would be much worse than that." Wilt continued "It wouldn't just affect this world, but any others that are linked to the Abyss."

"But I though you said he had never succeeded" Lira questioned.

Wilt shrugged "Who knows."

* * *

Liz arrived on the edge of the forest exhausted and out of breath, her feet and legs aching from running in high-heels and with a cold sweat from running in uncomfortable clothes.

Up ahead she could see cluster of low building sprawling across the coast and far to her left she could see a cove, sheltered from the main sea with a few weedy-looking willows, a few of which where being hacked at by in-expert woodcutters wielding blunt bronze axes, obviously determined to wield some result before they turned in for the night. She hurried past, her feet protesting at every step.

She wandered around for a while, apart from a large building with a patched-up hole in the wall, the pace was practically deserted. She suddenly found herself standing in front of a run-down pub, the peeling letters above the door announced it was "Thee Seleping Batt". A small scribbled notice said they had dealt with the rat problem. More likely they had come to a mutual agreement that both rodents and humans could live alongside each other. Maybe she could find someone in there who could tell here where she was.

* * *

A figure in a knee-length white robe stepped into the gloom of the bar which was actually slightly darker than outside. Zana squinted across the room, the person seemed familiar. She though back to her expedition up the tower, then realised it was the same person she had seen running away.

And, judging by the voice, the same person who had screamed.

"Hello?" Liz said nervously, she tapped the doorframe a few times with her knuckles, not quite sure whether she should knock or not.

There where three other people in the room, one of them was the bartender who was leaning against the bar lighting up a cigarette and either hadn't noticed her or didn't care she was there until she bought something. The other two where a boy in his early teens who was wearing a tatty blue robe, covered in small silver stars, that that was too big for him and a matching hat with a star hanging by a thread from it's frayed point. The other was a girl of about sixteen or seventeen with dark purple hair and was wearing a heavy brown hooded cloak.

"Err, hello?" Liz repeated "Um, where is this?"

"Here of course" Lira replied, indicating for her to come and sit down. "You're in Draynor" She said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"…Where's that?" Liz asked. "Err, what country?"

"Country? Well it's in the Kingdom of Asgarnia if that's what you mean." Zana replied. Who in Geilenor hadn't heard of Draynor? "So who are you?" Zana asked, as she ran a grubby finger round the bottom of her empty mug, merely because she had had nothing better to do.

"Err, my name's Elizabeth Dorthy, but, err, you can just call me Liz." Liz said "Err, who you are?"

Lira gave her a long hard stare, then apparently sure that Liz wasn't working for anyone who wanted her dead, said "I'm Zanaril Taru" she indicated at the young wizard who was still scanning over the complicated symbols and diagrams "And this is Wilton Dyrke. So how come you're here if you didn't know where you where? Did you get lost or something?"

Liz opened and shut he mouth several times. "Well… I… there was this feather… and then I sort of got sucked through something… then I was in this little room in a tower then I ran and… now I'm here."

"The room, it didn't have a skeleton in it by any chance?" Lira asked.

"Yes, actually, it did." Liz answered suspiciously.

"Yup, he's got it to work." Lira said glumly.

"Who's got what to work?" Liz said, impatient, angry and slightly apprehensive. "What aren't you telling me?!"

Lira sighed "You explain Wilt, you probably understand better than I do."

Wilt looked up sharply "Huh?" he said.

"Haven't you been listening" Lira said, annoyed.

"Erm…"

"Grayzag, he got the damn spell to work!" Lira said impatiently "You explain!"

Light dawned. "Oh no" Wilt groaned "This it not good."

"What!" Liz almost yelled.

"Crackpot wizard, teleportation spell, succeeded, end of universe as we know it, kaboom. Just fill in the details." Lira prompted "What do we do about it?"

"I don't know!" cried Wilt "We have to find someone who knows more about this type of thing!"

"Paradoxes and the apocalypse and stuff? I know someone in Varrock who might be able to help." Lira said "Can you teleport us there?"

"I think so." Wilt said, standing up and fishing in his pockets for rune stones.

"Wha-" Liz started, before the trio where engulfed in purple light and sped away into the Abyss.

The bartender looked up from the dirty(1) magazine he was reading. "Damn magic." he muttered.

(1)Literally, it had been lying around on the floor for a week.

* * *

There is a place that is both far away and very close, or so they say.

'They' tend to know best.

Both infinitively massive and smaller than a pinhead, this is a place where reality has been stretched so thin, imagination is more relative.

Time has no place there and Neither Death, Famine, Plague nor War can match its malevolence.

And yet, despite its terrors, there is one mortal who can still call it home.

Right now he's peering into a scrying orb.

His ragged white hair falls from its place behind his ear and he reaches up a deathly pale hand to pull it back. Suddenly he frowns, his face is briefly illuminated by a soft purple light and he steps back, a look of slight annoyance on his face, although he also looks mildly happy about something.

"Interesting" he mused.

The voice echoed down the while marble halls and carried on for infinity. Then it stopped instantly.

When it came to the Abyss, Logic did a half-job then took the rest of the afternoon off.


	6. The Plot Curdles

The Plot Curdles

The figure sprinted down the alleyways of Varrock was almost completely invisible. This wasn't because of the colour of his clothes, but because his robes actually did make him quite translucent. He was holding a long box.

The man came to a doorway and tapped a complicated pattern into the old solid wood, almost as hard as stone from decades of weathering and smoke, and a small grilled window just above his eye level slid open.

"Eh it's you, 'Does the Nightingale Sings Under Sun'?"

The figure sighed, looking around fugitively and clutched his robes tighter. "'When the Sun Shines Yet the Day is Done.' Now can you just let me in? I think I'm being followed!" He said in a hurried whisper.

"Nope, Boss said I have to go through standard procedures. 'When the Fire Runs in the Stream'?"

"'The Water Dries and Turns to Steam''! Whose stupid idea was this? No! Don't answer that, just let me in!"

The heavy door was heaved open by the man standing behind it. He was, as you probably can imagine, one of those people whose build is normally associated with shaved heads and heavily tattooed limbs. He actually has neither of these features, although he still looked as though he didn't have two brain cells to rub together.

"You got it?" He grunted, slamming the door shut and almost ripping the hinges out of the brick.

"You really think I would show my face here once more if I had not? Of course I have the damn sword."

"Jus' checking." The guard replied.

The smaller man sidled past, clutching the package to his chest. As he walked through an archway he came upon a room in which seven other men sat, dressed in strangely patterned green robes. They where looking expectantly at him.

He walked into the middle of the circle and from the box took an ancient sword in an ornamental scabbard. He drew the sword then, slowly raised it high above his head, the silver blade reflecting their faces. The blade seemed to be illuminated in some other way apart from the flickering candles that lined the room.

"Behold" He croaked, his throat dry. "Behold Silverlight."

* * *

Crouching on the tarred thatch of one of the buildings that walled the alleyway, Trandil lowered the binoculars and cursed under his breath.

That was the real sword, he was sure of it, he had to tell Sorkil he had found it. That would wipe the grin off that smug bastard's face.

He stood up carefully, wrinkling his nose as some of the tar came off on his robes. He turned quickly, only to come face to face with a smirking green-haired man.

"'ello wizzy" he smirked, then quick as lightening struck out and hit the wizard on the side of his head. Just before slipping out of consciousness Trandil felt someone rummaging through his pockets.

"_Crap_" he though before falling into blackness.

* * *

The man stepped back from the orb as the three figures in it teleported. He raised a hand and absentmindedly wound his small scruffy beard through his fingers.

"Interesting." He repeated. He couldn't follow people as they teleported and it would take him a while to locate them again, but after all, he had all the time in the world. And the patience to use it.

Igorek walked across the white marble floor, his pale red eyes surveying the world with slightly blurred vision. He was wearing full armour except for a helmet, armour that was made of a deep red metal that contrasted sharply with white skin. Hung over his shoulders there two large swords with jagged blades, also of red metal, as were his boots which sounded loudly against the stone.

A freak they had called him.

They had pointed and jeered, even thrown things at him, but no-one would even think to associate the thin, ragged boy who had spent most of his life running around Varrock, having to steal to stay alive, rejected be not only those of his own age but this parents as well, with the tall, powerfully built man who pushed the large doors of the hall open and stood, staring out into the red world before him.

He followed no God, there where none whose reach extended to this forsaken place, but when he was twelve he had taken up a position as an apprentice to a Zamorakian Mage. Knowing the city well he had been able to steal almost anything for him and how much he had done so.

The Mage had been one of the first people to try and enter the Abyss without instantly leaving it, and had actually come pretty close, but at the last moment, Igorek, determined that what awaited in the Abyss could only be an improvement, killed the Mage and entered the Abyss himself.

He's been there fifteen years so far, and he's found out the most important thing about it. In a place where logic is stretched so thin, Imagination is more important than Reality.

So bearing this in mind, Igorek had built himself a home. He could make anything he knew about and could work out simply by persuading it to exist. And so many poor souls had ventured into the place only to meet there demesne that he had a constant supply of many amazing different weapons and armour, made of a wide variety of substances to examine, think of and recreate.

But very rarely someone would come through who was not at all from his world at all. They dressed differently and carried strange devices that he had never seen; one of them had had something he could only describe as a miniature cannon, but a much, much more powerful.

They probably even talked differently, although they never survived long enough for him to find out. Although they screamed the same as he'd always remembered people to.

But he was more interested in the things he had found when he searched the bodies, strange devices made of a tangle of wires and objects, encased in a smooth material. One of then had burned his finger when he pulled it open.

They seemed to do a variety of things, from showing images, making noises or even speaking, but they where definitely not at all magical.

Many of them had weapons as well, well made if not slightly flimsy and light for his taste. But if was the devices that intrigued him most, he just couldn't see how they worked.

So, after many hours of painstaking concentration he had decided he had to bring someone from that world to Geilenor to show him how they worked and by sheer chance he had found out that someone in the Wizard's Tower was, without much success, trying to accomplish the same thing.

So he had helped him along, sending imps to steal things for the wizard's research and to give him clues.

And finally, it had _worked_.

* * *

Wilt's Teleport spell landed them in the fountain square in the centre of Varrock. Actually, there's a slight fault with that sentence, although it can be easily corrected by simply removing the word 'square'.

"Argh. Great aim Wilt." Lira spluttered through a mouthful of water.

Wilt's pointy hat floated by and he made a grab for it but slipped over in the process. Liz surfaced nearby, gasping for breath and treading water. "Hey! Have you ever tried teleporting three people at once?" said Wilt as he wrung out his hat and rammed it back on his damp hair

"Yes" Lira replied grudgingly, hauling herself up out of the fountain and over the low wall that surrounded it. "We ended up hanging by out fingertips from a cliff."(1) She shook her head, water droplets flying off the ends of her purple hair. "Just my luck, I get two baths in one night."

She reached her hand down and helped Liz out of the water; Wilt threw his staff over the side and then dragged himself, sodden robes and all, onto the paving. "So what's out next move?" Wilt asked, picking up his staff and checking that all his limbs where present.

"We see one of my friends." She replied and started striding purposefully towards a large red and white tent to the side of the square.

(1)She blamed the wizard who had enchanted the teleport tablet.

* * *

Aris looked up from her crystal ball and the swirling images inside it faded into mist. She could hear splashing and voices from outside, which was unusual at this time. Not that she expected everyone to be asleep, but she didn't expect them to be near here.

She walked over to the doorway and tweaked the fabric open an inch to see three people scrambling out of the fountain. What in Geilenor had they been doing in there?

One of them was a wizard, the rather soggy pointy hat, robes and staff were a dead giveaway, one of them was wearing a heavy brown hooded clock, which was enough said about anyone, and the third one was wearing a skirt and an apothecary's coat.

Oh great, they where coming towards her. And she though she recognised the hooded one. The gypsy was good as guesswork(1) and she was guessing now that the figure striding towards her tent was that stupid adventurer who didn't even have the decency to pretend she didn't kill people for a living.

Here comes trouble.

Aris gazed quickly around the sparsely furnished awning, then dived and rolled under the table us the door was pulled back.

(1)And relied on this fact when her crystal ball lost connection.

* * *

"A gypsy?" Wilt questioned "I don't believe in that kind of magic."

"I don't believe in magic at all." Liz said moodily. They both ignored her.

"Look, she's helped me a number of times before, she was the one who found out I was destined to destroy Delrith!"

"You mean like the hundreds of others that have done that? They try to bring back Delrith every week."

"Oh."

"Look, I just that it's mostly guesswork, I mean, take Astrology for example, how can a bunch of stars tell the future?"

"Actually, I think Astrology is about the movement of the planets, the sun and the moon, not the stars." Lira prompted.

"But still…"

"Look, it's our best bet, what else are we going to do?" Lira said, stepping over the collapsed sign which declared that tarot readings where half price. She pulled the fabric aside. Wilt stuck his face round the gap.

"There's no-one there." He said uncertainly.

"Aris! Get out from under that table, we need to talk to you!" Lira shouted, stepping into the grungy tent, dripping water over the various rugs and throws that littered the floor.

"TIME PARADOX!!1!!11!!" The gypsy screeched from her hiding place, carefully pronouncing the accidentally added numerals.

"Look it's not about that." Lira said "There's this wizard who's been trying to teleport someone…"


	7. Wizards and Swords and Adventures Oh My!

Wizards and Swords and Adventures Oh My!

Sorkil slouched through the gloom; the only sound that could be heard was the muffled thump of his staff is it repeatedly hit the dusty floor. Either side of him empty and battered crates loomed up like mountains and the air was thick and greasy with a faint taste of tin.

Magic, he could sense it. Quite old magic yes, it could have been from decades ago, but some of it still lingered around and put him on edge, the occasional spark scorched the wooden floor as his staff came into contact with it.

He stopped in front of another identical pile of crates, something had caught his eye. Covered with a layer of dust and mould which almost had a life of its own was a small set-up of objects. There where a few cracked scrying orbs, objects that could record magic, there was a sextant watch and chart, several battered and cracking maps and several books and scrolls.

There was also a considerable amount of dried blood, just visible under it's layer of filth, not to mention a skeleton wearing moth-eaten robes that might once have been red, with a rusty dagger sticking out of its back. He only surveyed it with mild interest; it wasn't exactly an unusual sight.

What was unusual was the fact that the objects where still here. Normally, anything which had a street price of more that one gold piece was salvaged and re-sold several times in a matter of minutes. But these had obviously been here for years.

He carefully walked around the corpse, noting a zamarokian staff clutched in its bony remains of a hand, and picked up a book at random. He opened it halfway through and squinting at the scraggly handwriting, started to read.

* * *

Terrig rummaged through the many pockets in the wizard's robes. Wizards where interesting. They normally had lots of fiddly small objects for measuring the length of this and the strength of that and so an, and there was always someone willing to get their hands on such items.

They where also amazingly difficult to catch off guard, they where like cats and seemed to have a sixth sense for would-be thieves.

But wizards didn't creep around on rooftops spying on people he thought as he absentmindedly stashed away some coins he had found in one of the pockets and picked up the binoculars. Wizards separated crowds carrying large ornamental staffs, wearing fancy robes, and rudely expected everyone to show them respect. He examined the binoculars, they where solid, plain and rather heavy leather things with scratched lenses, but they still might fetch a good price.

Having decided that everything worth taking was taken, he nudged the be-robed heap with the toe of his boot and the man rolled down the roof and landed on the street far below with an unpleasant cracking sound that suggested he wouldn't be getting up in a hurry.

There was no point in just leaving him to come and get revenge or anything like that.

(1) And if you got caught trying to mug a wizard, you would end up with no senses, in the way of a well-aimed fireball.

* * *

Aris pinched the bridge of her nose. Lira had, with the help of Wilt and, with a little bit of persuasion, Liz, told her their whole story so far, as well as an anecdote of when Syril had single-handedly beaten up five guards.

To Lira, the word 'reality' was simply a bunch of syllables. Sure, she was aware it applied to a large majority of the world, but viewed it as something that was necessary to keep the balance of the 'cosmic forces', if not a bit de-grading. In short, she'd seen the world and come to the conclusion that everything turned out for the worst in the end, so why bother being surprised?

Different worlds, on the other hand, seemed rather interesting. She would have liked to ask Liz about it but she seemed reluctant to talk unless it involved muttering about dreams and reality under her breath.

"So what can we do about it?" Liz said, breaking everyone out of their chain of thoughts. They stared at her.

"So how can I get back? I had a lot of marking to finish as well as a T.V. program on planets I was going to record."

"Well..." Aris began "I don't know if there's really anything we can do at the moment. You could try finding a wizard and asking them, but as they said, the wizard who teleported you here didn't really know what he was doing. My advice is to hang around a bit and see what happens. Something is bound to."

"It might be a good idea to get some sleep first" Lira said over a barely concealed yawn. "Come on, I know a good place." She said, standing up and motioning for the other two to follow her.

"G'night Aris" she said and with that they walked out into the night.

Or early morning, as it was.

* * *

Josef held the gleaming sword high above his head, the light reflecting intricate patterns onto the bright metal. The effect was rather spoiled when one of the members of the Society cleared his throat loudly.

"Thank you Josef, but there's not need for the dramatic entrance. We've seen that damn sword before. Too many times before."

Josef lowered the sword and sheathed it, looking embarrassed. "But it's Silverlight! The legendary, hero-wielded demon-slaying sword! It must deserve some respect!"

"No." The man stated, curling another kink into his scraggly goatee "Matthew, please go and put that thing in the cellar."

"Ah come on Dave" Josef said, handing the sword to another man and taking his seat in ring "I thought you where all for that type of thing."

"Only if it's red and black" Dave said defiantly.

"Oh-"

"Will you two shut up and stop bickering!" said one of the members of the group, standing up suddenly and knocking his chair over. "We've got to prepare for that Summoning. Everyone knows what they're supposed to bring, be at the Stone circle south of Varrock at 2 'o' clock this afternoon, lest Zaros smite you."

"Two in the afternoon? Aren't things like this normally done at night?"

"Do you want to have to fiddle around with torches and drippy wax candles in the dark?"(1)

"Ah, no."

"Thought as much, meeting adjourned" Denath said, heading towards the door.

"Boss?

"What?"

What does 'adjourned' mean?"

"Argh!"

(1)The Society prided themselves on being Modern Wizards, and were no longer bound by things such as black chalk, archaic invocations, ceremonial garb, impresively ornate staves or, indeed, drippy candles. They used these items completely out of choice.

* * *

The first thing Liz was aware of as she slowly crept back into consciousness was that he head was complaining. Well, complaining is a bit lax a word, a more suitable description is that her head was screeching at the top of its metaphorical lungs.

She groaned and rolled over, burying her face in the coarse woollen pillowcase.

Eh?

Liz sat up and squinted around the small room she was in. The walls at one point in time might have been whitewashed, but they where now grey with the occasional burn marks. What could possibly have been sunlight was creeping in through the holes in the curtains.

Memories of the last few hours of consciousness came creeping back reluctently.

Liz untangled herself from the blankets, noting that she'd slept in her clothes, which where not only ripped and muddy from running through the forest, but crumpled. She wondered how bad her hair looked, but fortunately there was no mirror in the room.

Liz wandered out of the door onto a small, equally grubby landing and walked carefully down the stairs, forcing her tortured brain to concentrate on putting on foot in from of the other.

The large bar was rather crowded and noisy, but she found Lira in the end. She was sitting at a table that had certainly seen better days, eating what shall be called, for the sake of the narrative, a steak. After some determined sawing with the blunt knife, she finally managed to cut a small chunk off, transfer it to her mouth, and started chewing.

"Urgh." Liz said sitting down opposite her "What's with the hangover?"

"You ch'lnged me t' a dr'nking cont'st" Lira replied with her mouth full.

"Who won?"

"Guess."

"Oh. Then what happened?"

Lira chewed for a bit then swallowed. "Well, after you had passed out I challenged everyone else to a drinking contest."

"And?"

"I won of course." She said, sawing at the meat again. "Do you want some steak? It's really… well it's… do you want some?"

Liz eyed the plate suspiciously "Err, no thanks."

Lira shrugged. "Your loss." She replied as Liz pulled up a stool and rested her elbows on the table, head in hands.

"So what are we doing today?" She said eventually.

Lira carefully nudged the rest of her steak to the side, and after downing the rest of her beer replied "Well, I thought we could go and get you a weapon, If you meet a dragon, you don't want to be punching it to death, do you?"

"I don't want to meet a dragon at all, thank you."

"Don't worry, unless we go into the wilderness, or further to the west, you won't be seeing anything more scary that a vampire."

"Oh gods…" Liz muttered, placing her hand over he eyes.

Lira looked up with interest. "Gods? Which ones?"

"Eh?"

"Which gods were you talking about?"

"It's just a figure of speech."

"Yes I know, but which gods were you talking about? Saradomin, Zamarok, Guthix? Zaros? Or one of the southern gods, like Ithclarin or Elendis? Lira questioned, ticking them off on her fingers as you spoke. "The Morytainians have their own Gods as well, but I doubt it's any of them."

"I... I'm not talking about any Gods really, and I've never heard any of those names before. We have…different "Gods" where I come from."

"Really? Wha-"

At that moment Wilt decided to appear, struggling under the weight of a large bag of gold coins.

"The bank attendents seemed strangely scared once I told them who I was getting money out for." He commented

"Yea, I'm a well known customer" Lira said, standing up and taking the bag off of him. "Great, we can go and get some supplies now."

"Good" Wilt said "I'm completely out of air runes, you're lucky I had enough to teleport us earlier."

"Well Audbury's Rune shop is the best place for runes" Lira said, heading for the door "but Liz and I need to go to the marketplace first, and it's probably not a good idea for you to wander around Varrock on your own. So if you come with us first to the market, then after we've gotten what we need we'll head over to the Rune shop. Come on."

The trio stepped out-side into the bright afternoon sun, and after blinking a few times, started down the crowded path towards the roar of the fountains. Or it could have been the roar of the crowds. Yea, probably that. In comparison to the empty stillness that had been there the night before, the square was filled with people in expensive, multi-coloured armour, people wearing not so expensive armour pestering those who had, and hundreds of stalls bearing their interesting and in some cases suspicious wares. Lira gripped Wilt shoulder and pulled him away from a grubby man in bronze armour who attempted to buy his wizard's hat for a potato, and peered through the sea of people until she saw the stall she wanted.

* * *

The man running it was carefully running a whetstone along the edge of a bright blue scimitar, and only looked up when the three of them stopped in from of him.

"Hello, and welcome to Yaril's Weapons Stall!!" The man recited, somehow pronouncing the capital letters. "We have a huge assortment of arms ranging from Bronze to Runeite!! And-" He lowered his voice into an exaggerated whisper "we may even have a few more powerful items such as the legendary drago-"

"We just need a rune scimitar, thank you" Lira said impatiently.

"Rightio!!" The man exclaimed, and pulled out a heavy case "Here we have an assortment of daggers, all perfectly balanced with a-"

"Rune. Scimitar." Lira demanded slowly and clearly, while Wilt started to snigger slightly. She picked up the blade the man had recently been sharpening, and gave it a few experimental swings. "How much for this one?" She asked.

"Thirty five thousand gold pieces!!"

"Fifteen thousand."

"Thirty thousand!!"

"Fifteen thousand."

"Twenty five thousand!!"

"Fifteen thousand."

"Twenty thousand!! And that's as low as I'm going!!"

"Fifteen thousand." Lira said patiently.

"Urgh, fine!!" The stallholder exclaimed, and Lira handed over the gold without a word.

She turned to Liz and handed her the weapon, along with the leather scabbard and belt. Liz held the sharp bit of metal gingerly, as though she expected it to attack her.

"You do realise I have absolutely no idea how to use this, don't you?" she said uncomfortably.

"Hold the blunt end, poke with the pointy end!" Lira chuckled "Don't worry, after this I'll teach you how to fight properly. Now let's go and get you some armour."


	8. It's Not Dark and Stormy

It's Not Dark and Stormy, Nor is it Night Time

The midday sun pelted down on the small hill outside Varrock, and the wizards that congregated there paused now and then to wipe their brows on the sleeves of their ceremonial garb. Runes were written, invocations were invoked, and the large, pungent, dribbly candles that _someone _had brought along sweated in the heat. After a short lunch break in which a flask of milky tea was passed around and squashed sandwiches wrapped in paper appeared from robe pockets, the magic uses took their places around the circle.

The leader of the group stepped forward to deliver his speech. Denath coughed slightly, and checked the smudged ink on the back of his hand.

"Brothers, we-

"And sisters!" one of the hooded figures yelled. Several other hooded figures murmured in agreement.

"Brothers and Sisters, we are gathered 'ere this day to summon forth the mighty Daemon Lord Delrith, so that he mayeth rend our enemies asunder and layeth havoc upon the City of Varrock, and none shalle standeth in our way, our foes shall rue the day-

"He's doing the funny talky thing again" one of the mages muttered from somewhere in the recess of their hood. A communal sense of disdain was already spreading around the group. After a few more minutes more of seemingly nonsensical jabbering, someone spoke up.

"-and in fyre and bloode, their screams shalleth sounde like melodies as-"

"Look, can we hurry this up? Some of us have things to do this afternoon" There was a murmured agreement. Many had promised their parents they'd be home by teatime.

Denath looked slightly put out, but complied grudgingly. "Various siblings, prepare as we summon… Delrith!"

Everyone in the Society relaxed somewhat; at least now the hard part was over.

* * *

While not much is known about the Demons of RuneScape, it's agreed that they have some semblance of intelligence, that they are generally angry at everything, and that they get very angry indeed after being dragged into a summoning circle by a group of normally teenage, usually acne ridden, dark wizard wannabes wearing too much black eyeliner. Delrith has been summoned regularly for over five hundred years. He's never has any say in the matter, but if asked he'd remark that, after so long, why did they still keep bothering?

**oh, it's you lot. why the fu- er,**** fiddlesticks**(1)** are you idiots still bothering me?**

The wizards cowered in fear as the mighty Delrith folded and tucked away his reading glasses, and carefully bookmarked the page he was on.

**look, it's not that I don't want to destroy the da****m- darn city, somebody only knows how much i've been looking forward to it, but there is such a thing as trying to hard, you know? so why don't you lot push off before some sword welding maniac comes and smites me or whatever. sorry for being pessimistic, but after- **the demon paused as he mentally added up -**five thousand, four hundred and twelve consecutive failed attempts, most people will stop being so fu- fish fingers determined.**

The wizards continued to cower in fear, but slightly less so now they realised they were just being ranted at.

"Mighty, er, Lord Delrith, sir, your, um, mightiness, we bid thee-"

**talk like a normal, civilised, non-archaic person would you?**

"- thee, er, you, to destroy the city of, er, to destroy Varrock, your fearfulness, an-"

**so the usual then? when is the idiot with the sword ****joining us? He's late this time…**

"Silence fiend! The sword is in our possession, so than none may stop our, er, your reign of terror and destruction!" He smiled smugly. The demon gave him a Look(2), and turned towards the city gate.

**so**** I presume the young man heading towards us is just taking that sword for a walk, huh?**

The hoods of the Society twisted to follow the demon's gaze. There were various muttered curses.

"Oh dear."

"Crap."

"Ohshitohshitohshit..."

"Aww, fuck!"

**look, it's been fun- wait, no it hasn't. ok, i hate you all, and you all fear me as an inferior being, but I think it would benefit us all were you and your little friends ****were to run along now.**

Dave stopped panicking long enough to mutter "Silence, foul demon."

**you see I'm trapped here until you end the invocation, or you leave the circle, and as we know that i'm going to be banished by the little twi- er, is twit a swearword? Anyway, you'll then run away like sissies, and i'll be the one who ends up with bruises in uncomfortable places. ****so why don't you leave now? it will benefit everyone involved.**

By now everyone involved was no longer paying attention to the demon, instead scrabbling in their pockets for runestones and staves.

"Anyone got any chaos runes?!"

"Argh, where the hell have my air runes gone!? Anyone got some spare?"

"WILL EVERYONE PLEASE CALM DOWN?!" Denath managed to shout at the top of his voice while maintaining a sense of sophisticated evilness. It was rather ruined by his fervent glances towards the approaching adventurer. "Look, we have nothing to worry about! We have SilverLight, so there's no way the sword he's carrying can possibly harm Delrith. I'd bet his existence on it!"

**gee, thanks.**

"So you see, the second the brat is in range, all we have to do is- hey, hey! Where are you going?!"

In the next few seconds several things happened. The most noticeable was the full on charge, by the individual weiling a sword indistinguishable from the one currently locked in the basement of the Society's headquarters, towards the ensnared demon trying to protect himself from said attack with the book he was holding. The second was that several spells were let off, all of which missed the adventurer, but hit the surrounding stone columns. The third is that after their spells missed, the wizards attempted to run away, like sissies. They were stopped by several tonnes of stone as one of the surrounding pillars, weakened by age and hit by too strong a spell, fell toward the pillar next to it. Imagine dominos falling.

Somewhere in the midst of this an otherworldly voice whined-

**ow**** that stings! stop tha-**

-and was silenced as the demon was banished. Ironically, the last pillar to fall fell towards the one responsible.

"Take that De-" SPLAT. These things happen.

Dave scrambled to his feet and, after couching up some grit, inquired "Everyone okay?"

There were several moans, grunts, and hacking choughs, but in general the sound was affirmative.

"Ok then, since everything seems fine-"

"Everything is most certainly now fine!" snapped Denath, who was brushing off his robes and surveying the ruined masonary with distaste. "We failed! I don't know how, but you idiots are going to find out!" He strode over to the fallen pillar, frow which a dark red pool was spreading. One arm protruded from the stone, outstretched almost comically, the SilverLight sword still in it's grasp. Denath kicked the dead hand until it loosened, then stooped to pick up the sword.

"Boss?"

The wizard looked from the sword to the dead adventurer, back to the sword and to the adventurer again. You could almost see the cogs working.

"You lot!" He suddenly snapped "clean up this mess and meet me at headquarters tomorrow morning"

Then without a further word, he strode off towards the city gate, the sword still in hand. The society complied. There were occasions when that man seemed like a demon himself.

(1)His New Year's resolution was to stop using human swear words. All the other demons were making fun of him for it.

(2)Of the type given to small children when they misbehave.


End file.
